Wings

It’s like being at the top
and falling to the bottom. ¹
It’s unhappy everywhere,
everywhere and happy.
It’s like destroying everything seven times
and piecing it back together.
Being against something
and fucking it together.
It’s much better forever.
It’s lasted, but thinner.
It’s stunted and shimmers,
therefore it’s nurtured.
But within seconds
it’s simultaneously far away,
done, and over with. ²
It flickers too far away.
Reaching for it’s no longer possible.
It disappeared so quickly.
When is it coming back?
When can it come back?

We are the clowns
in the circus of life
All the dreams, a tent
and the animal tamers, prophets.
High on ourselves ³
on this blue planet,
every escape remains contained, ⁴
every club is the ring.

It’s like being at the bottom
and soaring to the top
It’s gone and usually
unbalanced like times of suffering.
And are picked up like violins
for this one moment,
to inconsistently jump up ⁵
and to consistently overdo
things excessively. ⁶
Similar to the footbridges,
which we ran across.
When we were so out of it
and so much off the mark. ⁷
Incapable
of living our lives.
But so far away
from giving ourselves up.
There was never an “against,”
just our private misery.
And it brought us back to happiness,
brought us back to ourselves.

We are the clowns
in the circus of life.
All the dreams, a tent
and the animal tamers, prophets.
High on ourselves
on this blue planet,
every escape remains contained,
every club is the ring.

From trapeze to trapeze,
every tightrope’s a joke.
The applause is for nothing
and when you stumble and fall
to the ground during this balancing act,
the fall is without a net,
the success, just juggling;
and every somersault, a fake.⁸